Maurice sprang to his feet, infuriated; but the abbe darted to the door and intercepted both young fellows as they were about to leave the room. “Not a word! not a threat!” he said, imperiously. “I forbid it. At least respect the presence of death!” He spoke with such authority, and his glance was so commanding, that both Jean and Maurice involuntarily paused. Before the priest had time to add another word, Martial was there. He did not cross the threshold. One look and he realised the situation. He turned very pale, but not a word escaped his lips. Wonderful as was his usual power of self-control he could not articulate a syllable; and it was only by pointing to the bed on which Marie-Anne’s lifeless form was reposing that he asked for an explanation. “She was infamously poisoned last evening,” sadly replied the abbe. Then Maurice, forgetting the priest’s demands, stepped forward. “She was alone and defenseless,” he said vehemently. “I have only been at liberty during the last two days. But I know the name of the man who had me arrested at Turin, and thrown into prison. They told me the coward’s name! Yes, it was you, you infamous wretch! Ah! you dare not deny it; you confess your guilt, you scoundrel!” Once again the abbe interposed; He threw himself between the rivals, fearing lest they should come to blows. But the Marquis de Sairmeuse had already resumed his usual haughty and indifferent manner. He took a bulky envelope from his pocket, and threw it on the table. “This,” said he coldly, “is what I was bringing to Mademoiselle Lacheneur. It contains, first of all, royal letters of licence from his majesty for the Baron d’Escorval, who is now at liberty to return to his old home. He is, in fact, free and saved, for he is granted a new trial, and there can be no doubt of his acquittal. In the same envelope you will also find a decree of noncomplicity rendered in favour of the Abbe Midon, and an order from the bishop of the diocese, reinstating him as cure of Sairmeuse; and, finally, Corporal Bavois’ discharge from the service, drawn up in proper form, with the needful memorandum securing his right to a pension.” He paused, and as his hearers stood motionless with wonder, he turned and approached Marie-Anne’s bedside. Then, with his hand raised to heaven over the lifeless form of her whom he had loved, and in a voice that would have made the murderess tremble in her innermost soul, he solemnly exclaimed: “I swear to you, Marie-Anne, that I will avenge you!” For a few seconds he stood motionless, then suddenly he stooped, pressed a kiss on the dead girl’s brow, and left the room. “And you think that man can be guilty!” exclaimed the abbe. “You see, Jean, that you are mad!” “And this last insult to my dead sister is an honour, I suppose,” said Jean, with a furious gesture. “And the wretch binds my hands by saving my father!” exclaimed Maurice.